The Woodlander

by Kirk Watson

  But now John remembered his grandfather’s tales of the Woodlanders’ war with the birds. The Hundred Year War, he had called it, but in truth, no one knew how long it had lasted. Some said a century, others much longer, but the legends all agreed there was a time when the giant hawk-like creatures had preyed upon the Woodlanders. The forest dwellers were helpless against the much larger haakönen as they swooped down from the sky and carried their victims off to be eaten alive.

  There was little the Woodlanders could do to defend themselves. That is, not until the invention of gunpowder. This timely discovery shifted the balance of power in the Woodlanders’ favor for the first time. The haakönen were no match for an army of muskets.

  The Woodlanders pressed their technological advantage, driving the haakönen back to the mountains. The hunters were now the hunted, and their former prey had a taste for revenge. Facing certain extinction, the proud birds were forced to sign a truce. No longer would the haakönen invade Woodland, and in return, the Woodlanders promised to stay out of the mountains the haakönen called home.

  And so began an era of peace between the haakönen and the Woodlanders, a time when groundling society flourished. The Woodlanders’ own number increased dramatically, and no longer preoccupied with mere survival, they made great advances in technology and the arts.

  But the haakönen did not fare as well. Their number dwindled until they were rarely seen in the restricted skies over Woodland. As the years passed, they all but faded from Woodlander memory, relegated to myths and fairy tales.

  But this was no myth standing before the squirrels now. John wished he had paid more attention to his grandfather’s stories instead of dismissing them as the ramblings of an old squirrel losing his acorns.

  The giant haakönen towered over the captives, at least twice as tall as any squirrel. His feathers were golden-brown, except for the white tip of his tail. He wore a violet cape around his neck and a golden circlet on his head. His razor sharp beak ended in a menacing silver point. Each of his eight black talons terminated in a dagger-like claw.

  But what John found most unnerving were the haakönen’s eyes; they were as large as dinner plates, amber on the outside and pure black on the inside. The eyes darted back and forth between the squirrels, briefly fixing on each one for a terrifying moment before proceeding to the next.

  The massive haakönen took a step forward and spread his wings, the span of which nearly filled the cavern. John felt the primal instinct to run but somehow managed to stand his ground. Violet clung to his leg in fear, burying her face in his coat. The other squirrels appeared to be in shock, except for Billy, who was still passed out on the floor.

  “Welcome to Highcastle,” the haakönen said in his royal voice. He lowered his wings and bowed his head. “We have waited a long time for you to arrive. I am Skallagaan, son of Skarfågel, and king of the haakönen. This is my castle in the clouds, and you are my distinguished guests. I trust your journey was uneventful?”

  The squirrels stared at the giant hawk, dumbstruck.

  “Nothing?” Skallagaan asked. “Very well. Perhaps you have questions for me?”

  “What… what are you?” Lisa asked. “Some sort of hawk?”

  “Why, dear girl, I’m a haakönen. Have you never seen a haakönen before?”

  Lisa shook her head. “What’s a haakönen?”

  Skallagaan chuckled, a strange cross between a screech and a cluck. “No, I suppose you would not know; not many Woodlanders alive today do. Yet still you tremble. I would like to think it is out of respect, but I know it is just your animal instincts. Would you believe there was a time when the haakönen filled the skies over Woodland? In those days, every Woodlander learned at a young age what a haakönen was—out of necessity! But that was long ago.”

  “When the haakönen were driven out of Woodland,” John said.

  Skallagaan titled his head towards John in an impressed manner. “I see some still remember us. What you say is true, Woodlander, if rather poorly stated. Tell me, what else do you know of my people?”

  “Just my grandfather’s stories,” John replied, “but I never believed they were true.”

  “Oh, yes, we are quite real. Though the haakönen have been largely forgotten in Woodland, I can assure you, we still remember you.”

  “Is that why you brought us here?” John asked. “To exact revenge on Woodland? We weren’t even alive during the war—”

  Skallagaan interrupted John with a raised wing. “Ah, but you must be exhausted from your travels. Famished even. Ernie, bring our guests to the dining hall. I shall answer all your questions there.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Ernie said with a deep bow, lowering his head and tail to the floor. The haakönen turned and walked back through the immense door. Ernie picked up a lamp and addressed the captives. “Follow me. And no talking.”

  John followed the ermine through the door, with Violet and Lisa close behind, clutching each other tightly. Rollie shook Billy awake and fell in line, with Ray bringing up the rear.

  The door led to a long flight of stairs rising upwards into the mountain. There was little light, save for Ernie’s lamp, but Skallagaan seemed to see just fine as he led the party up the narrow stairs. The haakönen took the steps two at a time, hopping from foot to foot. They reached the top of the stairs and came to another massive door.

  “This is the entrance to Highcastle’s dining hall,” Skallagaan said. “Tonight we shall feast!”

  A chill ran down John’s spine. We feast, or you feast?

  Skallagaan opened the door and stepped into the brightly lit room. The dining hall’s walls were smooth as glass, painstakingly chiseled out of the rock. The dark granite floor was polished so finely John could see his own reflection in it. Banners hung from the walls, emblazoned with images of war birds in flight. A fireplace was set in the back of the room, with a chimney cut out to evacuate the smoke.

  A table covered in white linen sat in the middle of the room. A banquet of fruits, vegetables, and nuts had been laid out, along with a wheel of cheese and goblets of ale. John eyed a knife on the table, but after considering the present company, he thought better of it.

  Five more haakönen sat at tables around the perimeter of the dining hall: a red one and a black one to the left, a silver one and a blue one to the right, and a beautiful white haakönen in the center. Skallagaan took a seat next to the white haakönen, then whispered to the ermine, “Ernie, could you bring us one more chair?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Ernie said. He disappeared through the side door.

  “You’ll have to forgive us,” Skallagaan said to John. “We were only expecting four guests for dinner, but we’re happy to have you, Mr…”

  “Grey,” John said. “I’m sorry I didn’t make reservations.”

  “Oh, that’s quite all right, Mr. Grey. The more the merrier.”

  “You said you would answer our questions. Why are we here?”

  Skallagaan held up a wing. “In good time, Mr. Grey. Ah, here’s Ernie now.”

  Ernie returned with a chair and placed it next to the others.

  “Please, have a seat,” the haakönen next to Skallagaan said. Her feathers were white as snow, save for the grey ones framing her blue eyes. She wore a velvet cape matching Skallagaan’s own and a silver circlet on her head.

  Ernie led the captives to the smaller table and sat them facing the haakönen. He returned to the back of the room to stand guard alongside Ray.

  “I am Queen Magdeleija, Lady of Highcastle,” the white haakönen said. “We are so pleased you could join us. You must be famished after your long journey. Please, help yourselves.”

  The squirrels eyed the haakönen, then the food on the table, then the haakönen again. John could hear Rollie’s stomach rumbling. They were all starving, but they didn’t dare touch the feast their hosts had prepared for them.

  Skallagaan chuckled at their reticence. “Ernie, if you would, please.”

  Ernie walked
to the table and picked up a single grape. He smiled at the squirrels as he popped it into his mouth.

  “Thank you, Ernie,” Skallagaan said. “I assure, you the food is quite safe.”

  Billy and Rollie looked at each other, hesitating for only a moment before diving in. They dug in with their bare paws, stuffing their mouths until their cheeks puffed out. Lisa and Violet looked to John, who simply nodded.

  As the girls attacked the wheel of cheese, Rollie downed a goblet of ale and belched. “Excuse me, your, er… graceships.”

  John continued to watch the haakönen. They stared back at the squirrels, not moving or saying a word. After a few minutes, he asked, “Aren’t you going to join us?”

  “You go ahead,” the black haakönen said. He wore an ebony cape around his neck secured by a silver clasp in the shape of a talon. “We’re saving room for dessert.”

  The blue and silver haakönen chuckled. John thought the black haakönen was smiling, or maybe he was sneering—it was difficult to tell without lips. Whatever it was, John knew it wasn’t friendly. The black haakönen had a cruel look about him.

  “Oh, Geirleif,” Magdeleija said. “Don’t be rude. These are our guests. I’m afraid my brother is making a jest, Mr. Grey. I promise you no harm will come to you tonight.”

  “And tomorrow?” John asked. “What’s the plan? Fatten us up before having a little feast of your own?”

  The other squirrels stopped eating and looked up at the haakönen. The room grew quiet. Rollie dropped his goblet to the ground. It rolled slowly across the floor, the sound amplified in the stillness, until it hit the wall with a clang, and the room was silent once more.

  The haakönen looked at each other and laughed.

  “Eat you?” Skallagaan said. “Heavens, no! We’re not barbarians. Besides, it was far too costly to bring you all this way just to eat you. That makes no sense, economically speaking. I highly doubt you’re that delicious.” The other birds nodded and chuckled.

  Rollie emitted a sigh of relief and reached for another goblet.

  “If you’re not going to eat us,” John said, “then why are we here?” He pointed to the feast in front of them. “Why all this?”

  “Because we need you healthy and strong,” Skallagaan said.

  “For what purpose?”

  “You see, Mr. Grey, we don’t intend to eat you. But we do intend to hunt you.”

  Chapter 10

  FOOD FOR THOUGHT

  be·fall

  /bi `fôl/

  verb

  To happen to someone; usually a tragic occurrence, especially by fate.

  "Hunt us?” John asked. “I don’t understand. You’ve already captured us.”

  “Technically speaking, we paid to have you captured,” Skallagaan said. “But it’s hardly the same. It’s so impersonal.”

  “Maybe I’m not seeing the difference,” John said. “What exactly do you mean, you’ll hunt us?”

  “It’s quite simple. We’ll feed you, rest you, if need be, until you’re nice and strong. And then we’ll hunt you.”

  “For food?” Billy asked. “Why not get it over with and eat us now?”

  Lisa glared at him, giving him an elbow in the side.

  “No, my dear boy,” Skallagaan said. “Like I said before, you’re far too expensive a commodity to just eat. But a good hunt—now, that’s priceless.”

  “Where?” John asked. “Here in the mountain?”

  “Oh, no! Where’s the fun in that? We’re haakönen. We were meant to soar high in the skies. But don’t you worry; we have a private preserve—a hidden vale not far from here surrounded by these very mountains. We’ll take you there when you’re ready and set you free.”

  “Free?” Lisa asked. “You mean we can leave? We can go home?”

  “Yes, quite so,” Skallagaan replied.

  “That is if you make it out alive,” Geirleif sneered. The black haakönen stared down at the squirrels menacingly. “Many have tried. None have ever escaped.”

  “Are you forgetting about that rabbit, Geirleif?” the blue haakönen asked.

  “I’m not forgetting anyone, Alvíss,” Geirleif snapped. “That rabbit’s dead. I’m telling you, no one’s ever made it out of the vale alive.”

  “Oh, Geirleif, you’re frightening our guests again,” Magdeleija said, her white feathers ruffling. “Don’t worry, we’ll give you squirrels a generous head start. And in your own natural habitat, your odds of survival should be quite good.”

  At the mention of odds, Rollie nearly choked on the peach pit he was sucking. “Odds? What kind of odds are we talking about?”

  “Ah, yes,” Skallagaan said. “I understand you’re something of a gambler yourself, Mr. Malloy, so you should appreciate this. The current odds are one hundred twenty-five to one. But that’s subject to change, depending on the weather conditions, the injury report, and so forth.”

  “The injury report?” John asked incredulously.

  Rollie scratched his furry chin. “Well, sure, you’ve got to have an injury report. That’s just common sense. One twenty-five to one, you say?”

  John furled his brow in annoyance. “This isn’t some pinecone match we’re talking about, Rollie.”

  “No, nothing so pedestrian,” Skallagaan said. “This is much more exciting because the stakes are so much higher, I’m sure you’ll agree. Our hunts have become quite the popular sporting event with the northerners. A cottage industry has arisen around them, along with handicappers, sports reporters, and all the accoutrements. Of course, we haakönen don’t wager on anyone but ourselves. That wouldn’t be ethical.”

  “But it would be much more profitable for the rest of my family,” Geirleif gloated. The other haakönen groaned.

  “Yes, Geirleif,” Skallagaan said, “we’re all aware of your recent string of victories. But everyone’s luck runs out sooner or later.”

  “Tell me about it,” the blue haakönen said. “I’m overdue for some luck.”

  “You’ve been overdue for years, Alvíss,” Geirleif said with a sneer. “Maybe we should bring in some sloths just for you to hunt.”

  The other haakönen chuckled as Alvíss sulked.

  Rollie cleared his throat. “Ahem.”

  “Yes, Mr. Malloy?” Skallagaan asked.

  “I’d like to place a bet on myself.”

  The haakönen stared at the heavyset squirrel in disbelief, then broke into a fit of laughter. The resulting cacophony of clucks and screeches caused John’s tail to bristle.

  Skallagaan composed himself. “Forgive me, Mr. Malloy, but I’m afraid you’re already—how do they say—all in.”

  Rollie threw up his paws. “What? We’re not allowed to bet on ourselves? What kind of crooked game are you running here?”

  “On my honor,” Skallagaan said, “it’s all on the up and up. I would have no problem with you wagering on yourself, Mr. Malloy. After all, I trust you have no interest in throwing the match, for your own sake. But the first problem is, you have nothing to wager. You would be hard-pressed to find an odds-taker who would accept an IOU given your… limited opportunities. Secondly, let’s say for a moment that you did win that wager. How do you propose to collect? Even if you somehow managed to escape, I doubt you would return to collect your winnings, now, would you? And if you were to lose that wager, Mr. Malloy, well…”

  “I suggest you win,” Geirleif said.

  Skallagaan nodded. “Thank you, Geirleif. Quite so.”

  “And if we refuse to play your game?” John asked.

  “We’d be terribly disappointed, “Skallagaan replied. “And you’d no longer be of any use to us. Except perhaps as a dietary supplement.”

  “Dietary supplement?” Rollie asked.

  “He means food, you imbecile,” Geirleif said.

  “You’ll eat us anyway,” John said.

  Skallagaan shook his head. “Oh, no, Mr. Grey. You have us all wrong. We don’t want to eat you. We just want to chase you around a bit. Th
en catch you, of course, all safe and sound.”

  “But accidents do happen,” Geirleif said, giving the squirrels an ominous look.

  Skallagaan sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid accidents are unavoidable. But I promise you this: should you be hurt, Mr. Grey, we’ll do our best to nurse you back to health.”

  “That’s very noble of you,” John said. “Just in time for your next hunt, am I right?”

  “Now you’re getting it! Yes, next squirrel season is exactly one year from now. A year in which you’ll be well provided for, I can assure you.”

  “Oh, I do love squirrel season!” Alvíss said. “They’re so frisky!”

  “Bully for you,” John said. “And if we do get injured, and you can’t nurse us back to health?”

  Geirleif shrugged his wings. “Waste not, want not, I always say.”

  “Oh, Geirleif,” Magdeleija said. “But we do recycle, Mr. Grey. It’s good for the environment.”

  John frowned. “Better for some than others, I imagine.”

  “Injuries are an unfortunate part of the game,” Skallagaan said. “But the good news is we can always get new players. We’ve already arranged for the import of a pack of ferrets for next month’s hunt. It should be quite exciting. Ferrets are terribly clever, you know. Not that you squirrels aren’t clever, of course.”

  “Not at all,” Magdeleija said. “We do so enjoy the craftiness of squirrels. Your kind possesses an uncanny ability to scamper and hide.”

  “Your kind?” Rollie asked.

  “Squirrels, Mr. Malloy,” Magdeleija said. “We do so look forward to matching wits with you squirrels on the field of battle.”

  Rollie stared at her blankly, scratching his bum.

  John had heard enough. “This is insane!”

  “Insane?” Skallagaan asked. “I’ll tell you what’s insane, Mr. Grey: haakönen scratching in the dirt for food as if we were poultry.”

  “It’s unnatural!” the silver haakönen interjected.